


gut punch

by kermit_the_frog



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermit_the_frog/pseuds/kermit_the_frog
Summary: Jeremy’s eyes squeeze tight shut. Now or never. But the mark stares them down. Ryan forgets what a safety clicking off sounds like. The air is heavy, like a fog on their skin and more than ever Ryan wishes they could drift off to sleep. Maybe even with Jeremy’s hand in theirs and no dreams, no nightmares. Just rest and company. But Jeremy only stirs enough to turn away, sigh, and go right back to sleep.And so the debate continues. Their job, or a man that says he’s innocent.Ryan already knows who wins.--Ryan finds exactly what their looking for.





	gut punch

Dust lays in a thick film over windows and rooftops and in heaps on every doorstep. It filled the cracks in cement sidewalks and settled in the segments of fingers. A storm in Nevada means two things: A bloody sunrise in a golden morning, and hour upon hours of cleaning this mess up.

From here Ryan can see it all. Dust under their palms, in the valley grooves of the truck bed. Jeremy’s cheek is flush with the back windshield, eyes shut and breathing slow. Even. Small noises from the back of his throat every few breaths, it’s cute. The twitch of his lip, the slow scrunch of eyebrows, the way his lips part just a little. His chest rises and falls in this awkward position. He’ll have a crick in his neck if he wakes up.

With fine sand stuck to shaking fingertips which graze against cool metal, Ryan recalls memories of memories of the feel and the sound- the click of a safety turning off. It echoes in their ears. In their head, but not in the air. Because however much it would be the right thing to do Ryan can see the mark, just below the collarbone, that keeps Jeremy safe.

If only this was a dream.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen but the blood buzzes in their hands and nothing will stop the tremors.

\--

Settling down the night before a mission is restless, often sleepless. Ryan tries to only think about their brain, the synapses firing and what that sounds like. It’s a faint buzzing at first, but then they concentrate on it. Doesn’t let their mind drift to the mission details that they’ve been pouring over. They know it already. Think about the buzzing and how it’s getting louder. How the electrical impulses light up different parts. About what parts are lit up and which are powering down.

It’s a trick they learned years ago and it only works when Ryan’s as bone tired as they are now but the buzzing soon encompasses their whole head. And then they’re asleep.

\--

Jeremy’s eyes squeeze tight shut. Now or never. But the mark stares them down. Ryan forgets what a safety clicking off sounds like. The air is heavy, like a fog on their skin and more than ever Ryan wishes they could drift off to sleep. Maybe even with Jeremy’s hand in theirs and no dreams, no nightmares. Just rest and company. But Jeremy only stirs enough to turn away, sigh, and go right back to sleep.

And so the debate continues. Their job, or a man that says he’s innocent. 

Ryan already knows who wins.

\--

Their eyes meet across the crowded banquet hall and Ryan can feel it in their gut. It’s him. Memories, faces, are so distorted upon waking up but even with those alterations in your appearance you get in dreams Ryan can tell immediately. The feeling -like a firework or a gut punch- and then there’s the mark of course. Just under his collarbone, Ryan’s as well, and always on display. A circle, three lines coming off the bottom. 

Night has always been Ryan’s favorite time of day because of so many things, but sleeping sometimes means dreaming and dreaming oftentimes means this.

“Jeremy!” Ryan yells across the echoing dreamscape where hundreds of faceless people waltz in perfect synchronicity.

“Ryan!” Jeremy jogs up to them, a huge grin on his face. He’s taller than most nights. A sign of a good mood. “Fancy seeing you here.”

\--

“Aw nice,” Jeremy mumbles from across the truck bed, “Thanks, man.”

Ryan just looks at him. What the fuck is he on about? ‘Thanks, man’? They just ash their cigarette and look back out over the city. Rain’s headed their way but they have time. Hopefully. The truck bed groans and tips a bit and Ryan doesn’t need to look over to know that Jeremy has sidled up beside them. Especially not when when Jeremy sticks his hand out to them. Palm up. A look in his eyes that is a universal ‘can I bum one?’. It’s the least Ryan could do.

The wind is cold and makes for constant lighting and relighting, but there’s not much to say beyond ‘can I- yeah, uh lighter?’. Or, well, there’s too much to say beyond that and there’s not enough time to say it in. Ryan needs to bring back Jeremy or they’ll get fired and someone else will be after him and Jeremy’s still dead. There’s so much Ryan wants to do. Kiss him. Cry. Fantasize about fleeing. Cry more. Hold him close and never let go, even when the bullets are flying and things look bad. Look terrible. 

It’s hard to remember they only met a day ago.

Especially when they’ve always been together.

\--

The file doesn’t have a name. Not even a photo. There’s a description -bald, bearded, 5’4, etc.- as well as a list of likely locations. More than enough for Ryan to do his job right. Just enough to have things planned out for this unfortunate man (Well according to his file he’s a lot less than unfortunate. Apparently he’s been hacking into the servers at Ryan’s company and was a threat to their security. A personal threat, and Ryan doesn’t take kindly to threats).

It’s saturday evening and Ryan’s going to pretend to drink at the target’s favourite bar and wait for him to come in like he does every weekend according to the file. Ryan’s then going to get him drunk, get him back to their hotel where he’ll leave in a body bag after eating some ‘undercooked food’. It’s a simple plan but an effective one. There’s a reason that a seductress leading men into her home to murder them is a classic trope.

Ryan looks over their wardrobe for the perfect praying-mantis-esque look.

\--

“When I said thanks before,” Jeremy takes a drag, “It was about not, you know, killing me. In my sleep.”

Ryan grips their leg tight. If only that wasn’t their last cigarette.

“You could have,” and Ryan notices that Jeremy doesn’t say ‘should have’ but they both know that already.

And what now. The question electrifies the air, sends the first lightning bolt down on the city and the thunder rumbles in Ryan’s chest, keeping their breath stuck in their lungs forever. They could run, get caught and die. They could kill themselves, and die. Ryan could turn Jeremy’s corpse in and live, but not really. There’s no way this works out.

Jeremy wipes the tears from Ryan’s numb face before they even know their crying. Jeremy says he isn’t leaking information. Doesn’t know why Ryan was told to kill him. Doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on and if there’s one person Ryan will always believe it’s Jeremy.

“I don’t want to be doing this,” Is all Ryan can say. The only words to express how much Ryan wishes they could be anyone else. Doing anything else. A normal civilian life where he has an office job and Jeremy works at home and they met years ago. Maybe not even fated to be, but just found each other in the world. They’d live in a small house, they’d talk about maybe having kids. They’d argue about dishes and where the couch fits best in the living room.

They’d grow old having found each other.

But Ryan had to be a hitman. Jeremy had to be his target. They had to be here, doing this. Staring each other in the eye only now in a world where Ryan can picture clearly the shade of Jeremy’s eyes. Can close their eyes and vividly recall the shade of his lips. He is terrified but he’s gripping Ryan’s hands and comforting them like he isn’t the one that is being hunted.

\--

Their eyes meet across the crowded bar room and Ryan can feel it in their gut. It’s him-bald, bearded, 5’4. There’s the mark, half obscured, but Ryan knows.

It definitely feels like a gut punch.


End file.
